


"But I missed you more than I thought I would."

by LeannieBananie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death Fix, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship/Love, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 08:49:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19002424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeannieBananie/pseuds/LeannieBananie
Summary: "Sansa didn’t think she would ever understand the twisted bond between her and Sandor. How could two people live such different lives and still be repeatedly pulled together? It seemed that all they had in common was pain, how did that make for any lasting ties? Yet she couldn’t deny that it did."





	"But I missed you more than I thought I would."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from: _I Found_ by Amber Run
> 
> This is just me soothing my soul, because I will go down with this ship.

_**6 months after the coronation of Bran the Broken** _

Sansa strode across the battlements, head tilted slightly as she listened to Maester Wolkan while they walked. The inner courtyard was bustling with activity as a trading caravan from the south had just arrived, bringing with it goods and a steady influx of people. One such traveler caught her eye briefly, pulling her attention due to the hulking shape of the individual. 

Their figure was distinctly male, tall and broad and they were wrapped in a dingy cloak, hood pulled up over their face despite the shining sun. It was that height that made her breath catch, made her grip the railing so tightly her knuckles went white as her mind narrowed down to one torturous thought. 

__

_It couldn’t be. He was dead._

But then the stranger moved forward, limping, dragging one leg stiffly, leaning heavily on a cane. No, it wasn’t him. The breath that tore from her throat was almost a sob and Sansa blinked rapidly for a moment. 

“Your Grace?” Maester Wolkan inquired softly, concern on his face. She shook herself mentally and gave him a soothing smile. 

“My apologies Maester, my mind wandered for a moment.” 

.  
.  
.  
.

Later that evening Sansa struggled to shake the haunting feeling that had followed her all day. She idly sipped her wine, not terribly interested in her meal, her mind too full, too busy, too melancholy. It treacherously supplied images of Sandor, images that brought forward a tumultuous tangle of feelings that confused and unnerved her. Unwilling to investigate them further she stood abruptly, her guard moving to stand behind her silently. 

“Your Grace?” Rudely she merely waved a hand in dismissal and moved out of the hall as quick as her feet could carry her, unsure what she was running from. Or _who_. 

In her solar she sank into a chair near the fire, restless and overwhelmed. Sorrowfully she wished for her mother, or Brienne, or even Arya. This knot in her chest was tight and she felt that the more she tugged on it, the more it entangled itself around her heart. A soft sob escaped her lips as she buried her face in her hands, overcome with emotion. 

Sansa didn’t think she would ever understand the twisted bond between her and Sandor. How could two people live such different lives and still be repeatedly pulled together? It seemed that all they had in common was pain, how did that make for any lasting ties? Yet she couldn’t deny that it did. There had always been _something_ between them, something fragile and tenuous, but resilient. 

Regardless of everything between them, she trusted him as she had trusted no other man who wasn’t kin. Sansa didn’t know what it all meant, but it didn’t matter because he was gone. That thought made her heart clench painfully, it sent a sharp aching despair coiling inside her, leaving her breathlessly hollow. 

Weeping softly, she gave into it momentarily, feeling every bit the battered little bird, he had called her. 

“Your Grace?” Sansa had no choice but to set it aside, so she rose, wiping at her face, hiding the riot of emotions behind her customary mask. 

“Yes Erris?” The door swung open revealing her guard. He ducked into the room with a respectful nod. 

“There is a man here, he said it was urgent.” Sansa’s frown deepened. 

“Erris, this is not appropriate-” She broke off with a gasp as Erris was shoved aside and the stranger from the courtyard entered the room. A large scarred hand shoved back the hood and Sansa let out a cry as she fell to her knees, all propriety gone. 

“ _Sandor_.” She was faintly aware of Erris closing the door, but she didn’t take her eyes off the man who hobbled across the room and clumsily knelt before her, setting aside a knobby cane. 

“Fucking hate the South.” He grumbled, unfastening his cloak and tossing it next to them. 

“You’re alive.” She whispered casting out a hand blindly to him. He took it firmly in his, shuffling closer on the cold stone floor. He gently enfolded her sobbing form into his arms, holding her against his broad chest as she wept. 

“Aye Little Bird, I am.” 

.  
.  
.  
.  
6 months later  
.  
.  
.  
.

Sansa sat embroidering quietly in her solar, a fire crackling pleasantly, Sandor slumped into a chair by her side. He was brooding, she could tell by his face and how he ignored his wine in favor of twirling the cup absently in his hands. She hummed softly under her breath and waited patiently for him to broach the subject. He would probably trample over it with the finesse of a war horse, but that was part of his charm. Her lips turned up slightly at the thought, which triggered a low grumble from her companion. 

“What’s so damn funny then?” Oh, he did not disappoint, his taciturn expression matched only by his gruff words and sour tone. Sansa struggled to keep from openly smiling, instead arching an eyebrow and giving him a cool frown. 

“I was just thinking about the recent letter Arya sent.” He muttered under his breath again and Sansa decided she had had enough of his foul mood. He had been as approachable as a wounded bear for the past fortnight and she was tired of him taking it out on anyone within arm’s reach. “Oh, for the love of the gods _what_ is it?” She snapped, tossing aside her embroidery carelessly. His gray eyes locked on hers and he growled louder this time. 

“What the fuck do you mean by _that_?” He rose from his seat to his impressive height, leaning over her attempting to intimidate her and once it might have worked. Maybe when she was young and innocent and far from the North, but she wasn’t that girl anymore, so instead of bending under the weight of his fierce glare she met it with one of her own. Rising from her chair to crowd into his space she poked at his chest, feeling a bit like a petulant child as she did so. 

“You’ve been wandering around the keep growling and snapping at anyone who dares look at you, me included! I’m tired of it! What is wrong!?” 

“What the fuck are we doing here?” He motioned aggressively between them and for a moment Sansa was thrown off balance. She sputtered and retreated slightly, whirling away, attempting to put some distance between them. He caught her arm holding her fast and jerking her to face him again. Sansa reacted without thought, her free hand flying up so that her palm struck his unburnt cheek with a crack! 

“Take your hands off me!” She seethed, wrenching herself free. 

“I would never hurt you; you know that.” Sandor snarled, making no forward movement. He was furious and she was embarrassed, her heart racing fitfully in her chest. Gathering what remaining calm she had, Sansa faced him again, swallowing against the lump in her throat. 

“I know that, I-I just reacted- I apologize.” 

“I don’t want your apology girl, I want an answer.” 

Sansa’s mind whirled, thoughts flitting through so quickly she never had a chance to grasp at one. Overwhelmed she sank back into her chair, hiding her face in her hands and taking a deep, shuddering breath. Steeling herself she raised damp eyes to Sandor’s fierce face and gave a wildly unladylike half-shrug. 

“I don’t know.” 

“How can you not know!” He scoffed, abruptly tossing back the contents of his goblet. “You know what they say about us don’t you? Or is the Queen in the North too innocent for such talk.” His sneer was impressive and for a moment she saw the old him, the Hound scraping at his soul again. 

“What do they say?” She asked calmly, still refusing to rise to his baiting, even as she wiped at her eyes in frustration. 

“That I’m your lover, that we’re fucking. That you have a way with the hounds.” He was crass on purpose, trying to rattle her again, but Sansa merely shook her head. 

“We’re not though.” 

“I know that well enough Little Bird.” 

“But y-you want to?” Her query was timid and soft, but clear and his head snapped to hers quickly. She met his gaze with her own, refusing to back down, but inside she was terrified. Maybe he saw that, because he sighed heavily and slumped back into his chair. 

“You know I do.” 

It was perhaps the most honest conversation they had ever had, but it lapsed into awkward silence as they both mulled over their thoughts. Sansa picked anxiously at a loose thread on her sleeve, contemplating what it would be to giver herself to a man again. It made her feel sick, but the logical part of her brain reasoned that she didn’t know what it was to be with someone she trusted. And didn’t she trust him more than possibly anyone in her life? 

“I know you want me.” She responded finally. “But as you so delicately put it, I was ‘broken in rough.’” He had the grace to look chagrined, but she continued. “I-I don’t know if I will ever be able to. I think I might want to- but I don’t know if I can. I know you want me.” She repeated. “And I like that. I’ve never been wanted t-the way you do.” 

“I would take anything you gave me.” His voice broke with his admission and he looked haunted, his face resonating a lonely need that created an echoing ache inside of her. “Like a fucking beggar, I’d take your crumbs and thank you for it.” 

Sansa rose from her chair with a grace that belied the shaking in her knees. Sandor watched her with curious eyes, but he made no move, not even when she sank to her knees before him. Cautiously she took his big hands in hers and squeezed softly, marveling at the strength behind the calloused fingers. Closing her eyes, she kissed his knuckles and heard his sharp gasp at the soft touch of her lips. 

“I don’t know what is between us, other than a shared history that spans many years. I don’t know where this will go, but I-I would like to spend more time with you. I trust you and I care for you. All I ask is that you be patient with me. Is that acceptable?” 

Slowly, he pulled one hand free and carefully stroked the hair at her temple, sliding his rough hand down to cup her cheek. Sansa tilted her chin into his touch and felt a sharp, stabbing pain break open inside of her when he caressed her cheek with his thumb. 

“Aye Little Bird, it is.” 


End file.
